


Living in Clover

by Ailette



Series: Clover Series [1]
Category: Avengers (Comics)
Genre: Imported, M/M, Time Travel, not as AU as it might seem
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-08-15
Updated: 2008-08-15
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6686437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ailette/pseuds/Ailette
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony travels in time and meets Captain America for the first time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Living in Clover

**Author's Note:**

> This is set shortly after Tales of Suspense #44. Translation for all the German can be found at the bottom.
> 
> The lovely setevushka went and translated this fic into Russian here: http://myshka-setevushka.diary.ru/p188332590.htm.

Poking a little golden chariot with a mains tester, Tony Stark sat in his office. A documentary about the Second World War was airing over the radio in the background. Since he had come back to this time, he had tried to figure out how the “Golden Charm” that Hatap had left behind worked. Sure, there was the obvious answer, but he didn’t believe in _magic_ all that much. There had to be some science involved. And science he could figure out.  


A peep distracted him from the object in his hands. While he was fiddling with the pharaoh’s toy, he had simultaneously recharged his chest plate. Ever since he had fiddled with some of the iron parts of his armour he could go longer without the hated connection to the nearest socket, but he still depended on it too much. He’d gotten lucky when he was in ancient Egypt . Had he spent more than a couple of hours there, he would have run out of power and his heart would have stopped beating. There had been a lot of close calls recently, but there was no helping it.  


Frustrated, he drove the mains tester into the niche between the chariot’s floor and front a little harder than necessary and a blue spark fizzled up. He had a second to feel triumph – there was something electronic in this supposed magic item – before he was whirled out of his chair and into a brightly colored tunnel of light. Once again he had only a moment to wonder about this. Then he hit the ground, face first and hard.  


It was incredibly loud around him. Explosions, screams, people yelling and… gunfire? Abruptly he raised his head to see what was going on. He sat in front of a group of very bewildered people who, upon the second look, didn’t seem like ordinary people at all. Rather, there was an angry looking guy in nothing but green trunks and with pointed ears, a boy wearing a blue and red costume with his face mostly hidden by a black mask, two walking torches, and a man in a blue leather costume with a snow-white star on his chest, an “A” on his forehead and wings on each side of his head. _Captain_ _ America _ .  


They were standing in the middle of a big muddy field of tainted wheat and staring at him as if he had just fallen out of the sky. Which he might just have.  


Tony opened his mouth to say something – to ask about their whereabouts, to explain who he was, he didn’t know – but in that precise moment he saw a feldgrau figure aiming their gun at the star-spangled figure whose back was turned on him in order to look at Tony.  


_Captain_ _ America _ _ was the greatest hero that ever walked the earth. Some say he is still alive today, just waiting for someone to call him again. _

He heard his father’s voice from years ago as he jumped forward without thinking, yelling “Look out!” at the astonished looking man in front of him. To his own surprise, he managed to floor the bigger man, feeling a bullet bounce of his back as it hit his chest plate. He had only a second to gaze at those big cobalt blue eyes underneath him before pain exploded in his head. All color around him vanished into that precise cobalt, then grew darker shade by shade, facts becoming more and more distant until he forgot even his own name.  


***

_ I say we kill him. _

_ Namor! That’s not how we do things. And he didn’t do anything – _

_ Yet. This man just appeared out of nowhere. Surely you must see this is just another one of Hitler’s tricks. _

_ We’re not going to kill a man just because you have a bad feeling, Fish-man. _

_ He could be a spy! Didn’t you learn anything from that incident with that Hilda woman? If you keep him with you this whole operation is doomed from the start. _

_ Hilda wasn’t a Nazi spy. And this man saved my life. He earned at the very least the benefit of the doubt. _

_ Didn’t you see his chest? It’s doubtful he is even human! _

_ Now, Subby, you make that sound like humanity is based solely on appearance. You want to tell me something? _

_ Torch, I’m sure he didn’t think of you when he said that – _

_ Oh, I’m sure he didn’t. It’s not like there’s place in that tiny amphibian brain for two thoughts at once! _

_ What did you just say? _

_ Both of you, enough! Torch, you take the boys with you. Don’t argue, Bucky, we talked about this already. Namor, you know where to go. _

_ But what about him? _

_ Don’t worry, he’ll be taken good care of. And he won’t be a risk to Captain  _ _ America _ _ if he is watched by Steve Rogers…  _

Tony’s mind drifted away from the edge of awareness again as the voices slowly filtered out.  


***  


He woke up to the touch of a warm hand on his forehead. To his own surprise, he winced at the soft touch. The skin the hand was stroking felt oddly strained. Rational thoughts and memories slowly tumbled back into his mind at the same time as he felt a dull headache and a distant pain in his chest. Chest pain. _My heart, I need to recharge, I need to –_  


The hand on his forehead left its spot and instead pressed him carefully down to the mattress again  


“Calm down, everything is alright,” hushed a strong voice above him.  


Tony opened his eyes hastily to see the man who was talking to him like he was a sobbing child, sitting in a corner and crying over a gash on his knee. For a fragment of a second, he looked into a set of cobalt eyes, worry written all over them, then closed his own eyes again with a groan. _He had seen these eyes before._ The thought came and went immediately with the next one. _Sunlight_. _Way too much of it._  


“What happened?” he asked, mainly to contain another pained groan. This had to be one of his worse hangovers. The last thing he remembered was sitting in his office and tinkering with something… where had the alcohol hailed from? And who was that guy? He carefully opened an eye again to peek at the stranger in front of him. And a very handsome stranger at that. Not that he usually woke up from a night of partying next to anyone but the most appealing people, but this man… stood out even from his usual targets. Clad in tight brown trousers and an equally tight white t-shirt, he sported blonde hair long enough to cover part of his eyebrows which only momentarily distracted Tony from those amazing eyes. And those _muscles_ … Tony barely suppressed the urge to whistle appreciatively. But, the other man would most likely not appreciate being whistled at, only to be asked for his name shortly after. He may not remember his own birthday at the moment, but Tony still remembered _that_ from past experience.  


“A bullet grazed your head. You passed out for a couple of hours afterwards and you lost quite a bit of blood,” the other man regarded him closely. Tony opened his other eye to better take his opposite in. “May I ask for your name?” Even though it was phrased like a question, it really felt more like an order. Now that he was actually really looking, he could see the tenseness in those broad shoulders. Well, that was weird. His bed partners usually remembered _him_ very well.  


“Of course. My name is Tony Stark. And you are…?” He used his best casual business tone, hoping it wouldn’t bring him any trouble. It usually did.  


“Private Steve Rogers,” a curtly nod. “You’re American?”  


“What else would I be?”  


“Please just answer my question, sir.”  


“Look, Mister—“  


“Private, sir. Just Private Rogers.”  


“Right. Private Rogers.” Tony felt irritation boiling up in his chest and the thought of finding the nearest socket came back to mind. He had to get rid of this guy – handsome or not. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me what happened now and where I am, I’d be extremely grateful.”  


The soldier furrowed his brows in a mixture of confusion and worry. “Mr. Stark, I just told you what has happened. And you are in my apartment in  Bielefeld .” At Tony’s obvious confusion, he added, “ Germany . Where did you think you were?”  


“I thought,” and suddenly understanding dawned on his face.  New York , his office, the golden charm, a blue spark, light, blinding light -- “Look, this might sound strange, but what year is it?”  


“1942,” Private Rogers paused to see this Tony Stark’s reaction before he went on. “I have to ask you again. Are you American?”  


After the light there had been noise, blue, his father’s voice, so much _blue_ … It took Tony a moment to get his jumbled thoughts back in order. “Yes. Yes, I’m American. I’m head of Stark Industries, in  New York .” His eyes began to wander in the small bedroom, taking in the flowery green wallpaper and the antique wooden furniture. This really didn’t look like any apartment in the nineties.  


“Stark Industries?”  Rogers ’s head cocked to the side. “I think I’ve heard of that company, though I don’t remember where. What are you doing in  Germany , then? Wartime is a bad time for vacation, Mr. Stark.”  


“I’m not quite sure how I ended up here,” Tony started, only to see the mistrust in the other man’s eyes flare up again. He couldn’t stand the thought of this man not believing him. “Okay. I kind of know how I came to be here, but I don’t think you’re going to believe any of this…”  


“Try me. I’ve seen some things you may consider odd.”  


“I’m… not from this time. I live some sixty years in the future, where I recently got my hands on a time-travelling device. I was… examining it. Then it went of again and obviously sent me… here.”  


To his credit, Steve Rogers had his features schooled into a serious expression. “Why would it send you into this year and place?”  


“I don’t know. I—wait. There was a World War II documentary on the radio. Maybe that has something to do with all this.” A sudden pain went through his chest, forcing him to inhale sharply. Were there sockets in this time and place?  


“There are,” Tony realized he must have spoken out loud. It was still hard to think. Had he just told a complete stranger he was from a different time? “Has this something to do with the metal plate on your chest?”  


His eyes narrowed immediately and he drew his hands up over his chest instinctively, covering up what was already hidden by a thin woollen blanket.  Rogers had the decency to look ashamed when he spoke again. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry. But you came here with injuries and you took another bullet to the back – I had to make sure you were otherwise unharmed.”  


He was in trouble. Still clutching the blanket in his fingers, Tony gave him the angriest look he could muster under the circumstances and Steve felt a pang of guilt for obviously invading this man’s private matters. He mentally kicked himself for being so rude to his… What? Patient? Guest? Savior? Prisoner? Patient. But it was necessary, especially in a time like this. Namor had been right about some of the things he had said. Still, it didn’t feel right to upset this stranger in front of him, who had seemed untouchable at first but now looked so very vulnerable.  


Quick to break the tense air between them, Steve asked, “What do you need a socket for, anyway?”  


“The chest plate. It needs recharging,” Tony’s voice was clipped. It took Steve a second to realise that it was underlined by an oppressive pain. Oh, god. His patient was in pain for probably the whole time since he had woken up, and he had continued to pepper him with questions. Steve hastily got up from the bed and unwound the electric bulb from its socket. Holding it up for Tony, he turned back to catch the surprised expression on the man’s face.  


“That’s a… 1942… Of course, the normal sockets aren’t very common just yet…” He seemed to be lost in thought for a moment before he shot Steve another guarded look and slowly freed himself from the blanket. “I don’t suppose you could leave the room for a couple of minutes?” At Steve’s shake of the head, he sighed and gave in to the inevitable. Carefully pulling the long cable he always used for recharging out of a compartment in the chest plate, he opened his mouth to ask for a plug he could modify to fit, only to find  Rogers already holding one out to him.  


The man was nothing if not efficient. Tony forced his mind to concentrate on the problem at hand. Given the intervals the pain was coming in, he probably had about half an hour before he collapsed. More than enough time to do this. Fumbling out the mini tool kit from yet another compartment, he started to cut and mend the two different plugs. It was only a matter of minutes before he had the cable modified. Checking the improvised melting, he shot a quick glance to the ceiling. As he tried to get up, he was pressed down by Steve’s large hand yet again. Concern was making those eyes twinkle as he slowly shook his head.  


“You shouldn’t get up yet. We couldn’t contact a doctor for your head wound, but I’m sure it’s not wise to move around,” he stretched his other hand out to take the plug from his patient. Tony found himself looking down at the item in his hands before looking back at  Rogers . For a second he seemed unsure about what to do, before he finally sighed and gave in. He remained silent as Steve moved toward the light bulb socket.  


“Wait! Usually, when I do this, there is no one else around. I sometimes lose consciousness when I do it and -- I don’t know… It may not look very pretty,” his voice grew steadily quieter as he finished. His eyes were cast down to where he had unconsciously hidden under the blanket again.  


Steve just nodded and plugged the connection to the chest plate in. The result became apparent immediately. The man on the bed convulsed and gasped harshly before his eyes closed shut and his form went rigid against the soft mattress, the lines of worry on his face slowly ebbing away.  


Sighing, Steve sat down next to the bed again to watch his patient. The feeling that this man was somehow special intensified in him. Tony must have been in a lot of pain, and still his only worry was to warn Steve that he might not look “pretty” while doing this? Even on the battlefield, when he had appeared out of nowhere, the first thing he did was save Steve’s life. It just didn’t seem right that he didn’t think about himself first, take cover… Steve shook his head. He didn’t know the man’s history; it wasn’t his place to judge him. A pained moan escaped Tony’s throat and Steve found his mistrust die down even further, gently tugging a jet black strand of hair behind his ear. Surely, the Nazis wouldn’t send a man like this to spy on them. Smiling softly down on him, Steve let his fingers trail the patch where the gash was. He looked down at them as if wondering why they were doing this, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull his hand back.  


***

When Tony woke up the next time, it was to the smell of chicken soup next to the bed. He slowly opened his eyes again, ready for some part of his body to protest against any kind of motion. To his relieve, none came. His heart was beating regularly and the pain in his head had subsided to a low throb only every other second. Right in front of him he saw a white and blue porcelain bowl filled with steaming liquid.  


“You’re awake again,” a voice from the end of the room announced. “So I can… um… unplug you again?”  


Tony merely nodded, tugging the cable back into his chest plate. His head felt clear again. He remembered talking to this man – Private Steve Rogers – and also how he had been wounded. Intent on taking his mind off his own display of weakness, he asked, “Have you decided whether or not I’m a spy yet?”  


A sly grin met his deliberately casual tone of voice. “I have, actually. I don’t think a Nazi would risk his life to safe Captain America . What did you do that for, anyway? You could’ve just warned him.”  


“It was more of a reflex than anything else, believe me.” Tony buttoned up his tattered white shirt. Or tried to, at least. There wasn’t much left to button up. How many bullets _did_ hit him after he had gone out cold? “And who’d let Captain  America die? He’s a hero.”  


“And you were ready to throw your life away for a ‘hero’ you had never even met?”  


Tony just shrugged, still focused on the last button. “He’s more important than me.”  


“Every life has the same value. You can’t say yours is worth less than his.”  


“Who are you to judge? You don’t know me. For all intents and purposes, I could be a murderer. Are you telling me a murderer’s life is worth as much as  America ’s greatest hero’s?”  


“Greatest hero? What are you talking about?”  


“I’m talking about Captain _freaking_ America –” And then he stopped dead. The words ‘Butterfly Effect’ were jumping up and down in his mind, trying to get his attention by flashing in neon lights. “I mean. He fought in the Second World War. He’s a war hero.”  


“Right.” Steve obviously didn’t buy his back peddling completely. A needed silence fell over them.  


“You don’t like chicken soup? I could always go and fix up something else. We’ve got lots of potatoes. I’m good with potatoes.”  


A smile crept into the edges of Tony’s mouth. He shook his head and sat up from his lying position to take the bowl and the blackened spoon next to it from the night stand. The food situation during the Second World War in  Germany wasn’t something he had ever intensely studied, but he seemed to remember a certain shortage of things in general. After he had eaten the first couple of spoons, he peered up again to see the soldier still standing in the middle of the room, staring at him.  


“I’m rather used to multi-tasking, so if you’ve got any questions, you can just ask them now.”  


Steve looked extremely grateful. “Well… you were obviously a little confused when we talked earlier. You said you were from the _future_.”  


The other man just nodded, not bothering to try and speak around a mouthful of everything but _al dente_ noodles.  


“That’s good. I mean, now we have a logical explanation for you turning up out nowhere,” he hesitated a moment before he smiled briefly to himself and went on. “Our first theory was you were some kind of angel. Well, Cap’s theory at least.”  


Snorting into his soup, Tony swallowed his last spoonful. “An _angel_? That was your first theory? Then it’s no big surprise you believe my man-from-the-future story so easily.”  


“Maybe you’re a time travelling angel coming to our rescue, then,” Steve smiled.  


“Please don’t call me that.”  


“What? Angel? Alright, _Engel_.” If his smile got any wider, it would vanish into his hairline.  


Tony scowled. “I don’t understand a whole lot of German, but that means _the same thing_.”  


“You understand German?” Steve looked surprised, but still very pleased with himself.  


“Not really. I only was in  Stuttgart once to check up on our branch there and went clubbing afterwards. A friend taught me a couple of sentences.”  


“What sentences?”  


Frowning as if in deep thought, Tony quoted what Tiberius had pronounced again and again until he’d finally gotten it right in his most seducing voice. “Sie sind mir aufgefallen. Kann ich sie auf einen Drink einladen? Oder vielleicht… auf etwas mehr?”  


“Surely no woman of standard would follow such a… blunt invitation!” _I’m quite sure some male soldiers would, though_. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat at the thought.  


At Steve’s scandalised expression, Tony recalled the slight differences between their times and grinned smugly. “It depends on what you’re thinking about when you say _standard_. By my standards, those ladies were just fine.”  


Taking the now empty bowl from his hands, Steve slowly shook his head. “And that’s the only thing you can say in German? You won’t be of much help when I’m trying to improve my language skills then.”  


“I wouldn’t be of much help to you if I was Gerhard Schröder. As much as I enjoy the company, I’ve got to get back home. …what happened to the little golden chariot I was holding when I first arrived here?”  


Steve bit his lip and averted his eyes. That couldn’t be a good sign. “Please don’t tell me it was lost in the fight.”  


“It… wasn’t actually,” he went over to the dark wooden commode on the right side of the room and pulled several golden pieces out of the top drawer. “Toro went to pick it up, since you were holding it when you appeared, but… he kind of forgot to turn his flame off.”  


Tony stared at the pieces in his lap in horror. There were five pieces, all melted at the edges. If the Golden Charm was a product of science, he should be able to repair it. If it wasn’t however… He sighed as he let his head fall back against the headboard and closed his eyes instantly against the pain. _Serves you right_ , a tiny evil voice from the back of his mind whispered. “Looks like I may be around to help you with your German after all.”  


“Then I better get the text books, eh, _Engel_?” Tony was glad his eyes were still closed, for if he looked up now, he was sure he’d be blinded by a dashing smile.  


***

A clank of metal as Tony banged the smallest piece of the Golden Charm angrily against the miniature mains tester from his tool kit. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He’d poked every single spot of the chariot’s pieces and still… nothing. No spark, no blinding light. He was still stuck in 1942 with a soldier fussing over him all the damn time. It had taken him the better part of this morning to convince Steve he was actually capable of continuing to live without someone watching him 24/7 before the man finally – if still reluctantly – left the house. Tony didn’t know where he went, exactly. All he’d gotten out of the other man was a muttering of “Work.” And he’d rather not think about the hair tousling Steve had given him as a good-bye.  


He sighed. This was useless. The only real chance to get back was to fix this thing which meant he would have to mend the pieces back together and probably restore the fine artwork. With his own equipment, at home, he’d finish the job in a day at most. But here? The only tools he had at his disposal where the ones from his tool kit and those were meant for emergency repairs on the armor, not detailed craftwork.  


Desperate for some kind of inspiration for a solution, he let his eyes wander the room again. The flat Steve was living in was rather small. The only door from the bedroom led to a narrow corridor without windows or a functioning lamp. Exactly opposite from the bedroom was the tiny bathroom, while the third door led to the living room. It contained a plush dark brown sofa, the table he was sitting at right now, and then opened to the tiled kitchen in the corner. He would have liked to get out and catch some fresh air, but Steve had made him swear on everything that was holy that he wouldn’t leave this apartment. He wasn’t even allowed to go onto the staircase. Sure, he could still just leave and he’d thought about it after Steve had finally left. But where would he go? And it wasn’t like he could communicate with anyone on the outside. They were in the middle of Nazi Germany, in a town he had never even heard of and he was pretty sure Americans weren’t very popular at the moment.  


No, it was better to stay here for the moment and try to come up with a way out of this misery. He hadn’t figured out what Steve was doing here and in what relation he stood to the Invaders, but he didn’t dare to ask too many questions. It was obvious Steve didn’t think he was a spy anymore – you don’t sleep in the same bed with a man who you think might kill you as soon as you close your eyes – but that didn’t mean he was free from any doubt. Surely it would seem suspicious if he asked too much.  


The only thing he had asked about was their circumstances. Steve had patiently explained how some military contact had organized an abandoned apartment just outside of the city, surrounded by more green than Tony cared about. The same military contact also supplied them with food and everything they might need. To live in peace and relative luxury in the middle of an ongoing war, Steve had to have some really high ranking and influential contacts. He found himself wondering about this again. Steve was only a common Private in rank and he seemed way too clumsy to be special ops or on an undercover reconnaissance. Then again, he obviously knew the Invaders. The seemingly simple soldier was hard to figure out.  


An odd clicking sound came from the door. When Tony looked up, he found that the man giving him headaches was standing in the doorway, looking slightly surprised to see someone looking back.  


“You’re still here,” he observed happily.  


His voice was sulkier than he felt. “You _told_ me to stay put.”  


“I know, but… You don’t seem like the type of person who follows advice.” The word _orders_ hung in the air between them, unspoken.  


Tony snorted. “You know me for barely a day and already have me all figured out.”  


“Of course not,” the broad smile was back on his face. “No one can figure out an angel.”  


“Again -- stop calling me that.” Tony found himself flushed whenever the other man called him that. And Tony Stark didn’t do flushed.  


Steve entered the room with the air of a man ready to run a marathon to the moon and back without oxygen or solid ground. “But it fits… Engel.”  


Tony just glared at him, knowing full well by now it would only make Steve grin in triumph. He was right, of course. Letting a heavy bag drop on the table, Steve made his way over to the kitchen, filling two glasses with water before sitting down on the comfy couch next to Tony’s chair. “I bet you haven’t been drinking anything since I left the house,” he accused and made Tony take the second glass.  


He sipped on it reluctantly, not willing to prove the other man right. “What’s in the bag?”  


“Oh, just books. Nam- A friend told me to ‘finally sit down and study properly when I have nothing better to do.’”  


“What kind of books?”  


The smile was back in all its blinding glory. “German Educational Books.”  


“I’m not going to learn with you.”  


Half an hour passed before Tony was engulfed in the tiring process of pronouncing ‘Eichhörnchen.’ He couldn’t think of a situation where he would need to be able to say ‘squirrel’ in another language, but Steve was obviously intent on making him the perfect German speaker and “The harder the first word is to pronounce, the easier the following ones will be.”  


After Tony had mastered the sentence “ Dort sitzt ein Eichhörnchen im Baum,” Steve switched to pronouncing different words while Tony compared them to the phonetic transcription in the book in front of him.  


“Turm.”  


“I think you need to roll the ‘r’ a little more,” Tony said gazing up from the book to watch Steve barring his teeth to pronounce the unwilling letter.  


“Rrrrrr. Turm. Turm. _Turm_.” His face lit up. “The last one was better, wasn’t it? …Tony?”  


Tony was distantly aware he was staring at Steve’s mouth, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away from the full lips moving to form words. “What?”  


“You seem a little distracted, Engel,” his voice shook as the laughter he was straining to control threatened to break free.  


Tony’s eyes snapped up. “Huh? I mean, I’m not. I’m entirely focused on the task at mouth. _Hand_. Task at hand.”  


Steve rubbed his nose in a gesture that would normally be considered a sign of awkwardness, but it was clearly only a way of hiding the smug grin. “I guess we can continue the German lessons tomorrow.” Still grinning, he leaned back on the couch, now focusing solely on Tony who began to feel twitchy immediately. “Let’s do something else.”  


Tony was fumbling with the seat cushion. “So make a suggestion. What does one do in a hostile country in wartime?”  


***

“Can I ask you something?” Tony was lounging in the chair by now. His feet were propped up on the couch next to Steve, while his hands were tucked back behind his head. Steve hadn’t moved much, but his stance was visibly more relaxed with his head leaning against the wall behind him. Seemingly absentminded, he was running his index finger over the back of Tony’s left foot.  


 “Engel, we’ve been talking for over three hours and you decide to ask for permission to speak freely now?”  


 “I just don’t want you to think I’m a spy again, only because I’m showing interest in you. In your life, I mean.” What was it with those Freudian slips today?  


 A casual wave of the hand. He stopped the motion in mid-air, staring down at the free limb like he remembered something before he slowly shook his head. “Go ahead.”  


 “Why are you here?”  


 “I like to believe that it all began when God created the Earth—”  


 “Come on, that one is so old it probably originated in…” He awkwardly broke off. Making fun of the Second World War didn’t seem like a very bright idea at this time and place.  


 Steve chuckled softly. “I’m here on a reconnaissance mission. I work near the company specialised in weaponry for the better part of the day, and then share my observations with the Invaders later on.”  


 “So you do work with the Invaders, huh? Are they really as amazing as people say? What about Captain  America ?”  


 “You know the Invaders?” Steve looked surprised.  


 “Are you kidding me? Those guys were one of the first superhero teams. Mrs. Wiston – my old history teacher -- made us recite their names at the end of every lesson.” His eyes were gleaming brightly with old memories until he realised something. “You have to promise me you won’t tell them about that. I don’t know how it could affect the future.”  


 “Um,” Steve said rather ungracefully. “I can’t really promise something like that.”  


 “Oh,” Tony suddenly sounded deflated. “Of course you can’t.”  


 “No, no, that’s not it!” This was _wrong_. A bitter smile had crossed Tony’s lips momentarily. “Engel, it’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s just… I really… I really can’t—”  


 “It’s alright. I didn’t mean to bring you trouble.” _Then why do you look like I just stabbed you in the back?_ “Tell me something about Captain  America .”  


 “Why him?”  


 “My dad dragged me to the movies when they showed this incredibly long and boring documentary about him on my fifth birthday. He wasn’t one for heroes, but he practically worshipped Cap,” Tony paused briefly, as if he had to recall something first before he continued. “I guess you could say he’s my favorite too. He inspired me to some things.”  


 Steve seemed ridiculously happy about that statement. Maybe a little more than it warranted. “Well, he does stand for everything good in  America . The costume is a symbol of hope for every free soul on the battlefield, fighting amongst them, as one of them. He has the honour to wear our country’s colours, to bring inspiration to every soldier. He is their equal, in heart and mind. Children look up to him and see what they can become – the pride of their country.”  


 When Steve refocused his gaze from an invisible point beyond the kitchen’s cupboard, he realized Tony was staring at him, his lips slightly parted. He was about to ask about his state of health—admittedly he would have asked sooner if he hadn’t been so distracted by the images his mind conjured at the sight Tony made — when he blurted out, “ _You_ ’re Captain America!”  


 “What? No! That’s not what I said—”  


 “Of course it’s not what you _said_. But it’s the only thing that makes sense! Your relationship with the Invaders, your contacts, the eyes, why you can’t promise…” Tony took a deep breath to calm himself. “Wow. _You’re Captain America_.”  


 Steve grimaced. There was no way he could talk himself out of this one. “Namor is going to kill me,” he said instead.  


 A laugh. Tony was laughing. Not just a little chuckle or a smirk but a heartfelt, full laugh from deep within his chest. He could even see something glitter on the edges of his Engel’s eyes. He found himself smiling at the sight, unable to take his eyes of him. It just seemed… right. Laughing was something Tony should do more. _Maybe he could help with that._ “First I meet Cleopatra and now this. I really shouldn’t be surprised.”  


 Before he could fully rationalize his next action, Steve leaned forward and grabbed Tony’s neck, urging him forward to meet his lips. At the first moment, Tony was too startled to respond in anyway. Then he just gave in to this man who called him an angel. The slight parting of lips was all the invitation Steve needed.  


 When Steve kissed Tony, he tasted of metal and the future. When Tony kissed Steve, he could feel his heart beating without help again.  


 The need for air was pushed to the back of their minds. Steve’s tongue positively ravished Tony’s mouth before it slowly pulled out, licking swiftly across his bottom lip, wandering over his collarbone to his ear where he started to nibble softly, eliciting a needy moan from Tony. Somehow, he had managed to draw Tony out of his chair and into his lap, giving him easier access. He felt Tony’s legs go around his waist, pressing himself closer, letting Steve feel his arousal. He moved his hands down from Steve’s face to his wide shoulders, stroking over muscle before he let them wander over the broad chest to his navel, finally tugging at the hem of his shirt. Steve only reluctantly took his hands of his Engel for the briefest of moments to yank the t-shirt over his head and toss it over the nearest chair back before he started to fumble with the first button on Tony’s shirt. The temptation to simply rip it of was great.  


 Suddenly, Tony went rigid. Breathing hard, he extracted himself from Steve to look at the hands on his shirt. He not so gently smacked them away and buried his head in the crook of Steve’s neck, starting to kiss and nibble his way down. Now a little distracted, Steve looked down at his own hands, currently lying uselessly between them. Stubbornly he brought them up and started to fumble with the buttons again. And again, Tony’s hands stopped them. He covered them with his own and brought them down on his sides, rolling his hips invitingly.  


 “Tony, your shirt—“  


 “Just leave it. The interesting goods aren’t covered by the _shirt_ anyway.”  


 Already regretting his next move, Steve backed away from Tony; just enough to meet his eyes. “Engel, what’s wrong?”  


 Tony averted his eyes, but Steve would have none of it. He cupped his angel’s chin and lifted his head up to make him look at him again. “This won’t happen if you’re not going to tell me what’s wrong.”  


 For a moment, Steve feared he’d ruined everything, but then he heard Tony’s muted voice, filled with shame. “…the chest plate. I don’t… I don’t want you to have to look at something like that while we’re..” He broke off.  


 “You think I’d be bothered by that? Oh, Engel,” he pressed a tender kiss next to the wound on Tony’s forehead. “I could never feel repulsed by something that keeps you alive.” Tony’s eyes glowed with warmth when he could see them again.  


 ***

 When Tony woke up the next morning, he felt uncannily happy. As he cast his eyes up, he was met with the reason for this feeling. Steve lay next to him on the bed, propped up on one arm to watch him.  


 “God, you’re beautiful, Engel,” he murmured in utter astonishment.  


 Tony snorted. “Good morning to you, too.”  


 Steve beamed down at him before he flipped over to lie on his back, arms tucked beneath his head, watching something at the ceiling only he could see. “You want to talk?” he asked in a tone full of mock suffering.  


 A sigh escaped from his lips. “I’m not going to say this wasn’t a good idea. But I’m not going to be here for long and you should have other things on your mind.”  


 “Don’t make this about me.” Tony could hear the voice take on a hard edge. “You want an excuse? Fine. This is war. You never know when you get the chance to relax, you never know if you’ll get another chance to do it tomorrow. If there’s anything I learned here, it’s to live in the moment.” He tilted his head slightly, searching Tony’s face for any emotion. His efforts were in vain. “I say we just enjoy ourselves until you can get back to your time. No strings attached.”  


 Tony seemed to consider this option for a couple of heartbeats until he slowly nodded. “Sounds good to me.”  


 Before he knew what was happening, Tony was pressed into the mattress under Steve’s weight, the other’s lips urgent against his own. When Steve pulled back he looked smug beyond reason. “Sealed with a kiss,” he said blithely.  


 “You are one of your kind, you know that?”  


 “But it takes one of a kind to catch an angel.” He pressed a kiss to the jet black hair and rolled off him again, resuming his earlier position.  


 “I can’t make you stop calling me that, can I?”  


 “Feel free to give it your best shot, Engel.”  


 The banter was flirtatious and light-hearted. _And immensely enjoyable_ , Tony thought to himself.  “I think I’ll need a little break for now.”  


 If it was possible, Steve looked even smugger. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this before, because you seemed to know your way _around_ last night.”  


 “I just… haven’t done this for a while.” His voice was light, but Steve could hear something else running under it. Bitterness. _‘Don’t the people in your time have eyes?’_ Steve wanted to shout, but he felt he already knew the answer.  


 “You don’t trust people easily,” he observed, running his free hand gently over Tony’s blanket covered chest. “So it isn’t common for everyone to have a golden chest like this in the future.”  


 A shake of the head accompanied by a wry grin. “You could say it’s a uncommon. If people saw it, they’d know more about me than is good for them.”  


 “Hm?”  


 “I don’t feel like talking about it. It’s nothing important, anyway.”  


 “Have it your way,” Steve sighed.  


 “I usually do,” came the amused reply.  


 He watched the sun rays illuminate Tony for a little while before he got up and moved over to the closet.  


  “Are you getting ready for work?”  


 “Yes.” He turned his head to grin at Tony. “You’re not missing me already, are you, Engel?”  


 “Right,” delicate eyebrows were raised at him. “I wanted to ask you to look for a couple of specific tools. It’d be helpful if you could get—”  


 “Engel,” Steve said. “I already noticed you’re pretty smart, but I saw the chariot and I think I know what you need. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He pressed what could only be called a smacker right on Tony’s lips before he hurried out of the room. He managed too avoid being hit by the pillow by a hair’s breadth. “Bis später, Schatz!”  


 “Eichhörnchen!” Tony yelled after him, making a mental note to secretly learn German cuss words as he heard Steve burst into laughter.   


 ***

Flipping through the pages of _Effi Briest_ , Tony felt rather stupid. A certain degree of helplessness and anger boiled into the mix and he fixed the book in front of him with a viscous look. It wasn’t this particular book that bothered him. It wasn’t even the whole shelve filled with German books. He didn’t understand the language, which made him completely dependant on Steve’s help.  


 As if his pride hadn’t been damaged enough when the other man had watched him recharging the chest plate. After that he had recharged when Steve was at work, but still. He had to rely on Steve to actually leave the house. He had to rely on Steve to explain things to him, though there hadn’t much to explain yet. He had to rely on Steve to bring him the tools; otherwise he couldn’t get anything done.  


 Tony sighed deeply and closed the book with a snap. His eyes wandered over the other spines in the shelf, looking for a familiar title. Maybe if he’d read the book already, he could translate it with the dictionary still lying on the table. Familiar names were present, but he’d never actually read any of Fontane’s books and he barely remembered reading _Buddenbrooks_ as a child. Also, the book was maybe a little too big for his first try.  


 Smaller stacks of paper where lying in a corner of the rack. Tony briefly looked through them, smiling down at _Leben des Galilei_ and _Die Dreigroschenoper_. He remembered seeing the latter on stage in  New York, the songs beginning to ring in his ears like they did that night. He’d been there with some girl, her name forgotten, even her face just a pretty blur now, but he remembered seeing Sting coming on stage in black and white, sporting a moustache. Absent-mindedly he was whistling _The Ballad of Mack the Knife_ while he glanced over the books again. _Dantons Tod, Kleider machen Leute, Don Carlos – Infant von Spanien,_ …

Whoever had occupied this place before certainly knew how to pick his books. He briefly wondered how this person had managed to rescue his books from the Nazi book burnings, but dropped the thought since he only could get an answer through Steve.  


 Sighing once more, he let himself fall back on the couch, staring appraisingly at the book in his hands. He was still holding _Effi Briest_. Well, he could give it a try. It wasn’t like there was anything else to do.  


 Had that also been his reason for falling into bed with Steve? He rubbed his temple. Feeling a little lost at this place, Steve charming his pants off him and all the while looking so damn good, a little bit of hero worship for Captain  America … Certainly it hadn’t been the only reason. But one of them? Yes. And it really had been too long since he last had just enjoyed himself without having to think about his secret identity, his company or someone else’s safety.  


 After he’d gotten the armor he had found himself in closeted dark places on parties, someone or another there with him, neither bothering to remove more clothing than was absolutely necessary. Admittedly, it had been thrilling at first. It wasn’t long until it just felt dirty and more like a burden than fun though. Tony had dropped the habit and fallen back on just being his most flirtatious self around everyone to make up for it. It had worked, so far.  


 ***

 When Steve came home, he found Tony hunched over the table, his gaze intent on the books in front of him, the index finger of his left hand running down the page of a thick brown book while his other hand held one with navy blue binding open. He was quietly murmuring something, as if not to forget it.  


 “Wollnadel, Wollnadel, Wollnadel,… Oh, come _on_ , it has to be here somewhere…”  


 Steve suppressed a chuckle at Tony’s tone of utter frustration. Instead he snuck up behind him to softly grip his shoulders. “It means ‘knitting needle,’” he whispered into his ear.  


 Tony jumped in his chair, not so accidentally hitting Steve square in the jaw with his elbow.  


 “Ow.”  


 “Don’t _do_ that,” Tony hissed at him, his eyes still wide.  To Steve’s surprise, Tony was standing before him with one foot before and one food behind him to secure his stance, his arms in roughly the same position, palms outstretched. The last was odd, but it was clearly a practised defensive position.  


 Still rubbing his jaw, Steve smiled to himself. There was more to his angel than met the eye. “I didn’t expect you to turn into a ninja all of a sudden.”  


 Tony visibly forced himself to relax and took a step forward, craning his neck to get his face even closer before he retreated a little and instead whacked him lightly on the arm. “You haven’t seen me going all ninja on you yet.”  


 “We can try that after I show you your new toys,” Steve said with more than a little hint of promise and kissed Tony full on the lips. It wasn’t a deep and meaningful kiss, just a way to say hello, but to Tony it was meaningful in its own way as he felt his heart skip a beat. “And by that I mean the crafting tools you asked for.”  


 ***

 Steve and Tony were lounging on a small fluffy brown blanket, both staring up at the seemingly endless blue sky. Not a single cloud could be seen. Just… blue.  


 “I’ve never seen a sky like this,” Tony said contently. This was nice. They were lying in the garden, completely surrounded by their house and safe. Steve had eventually ‘allowed’ him to leave the apartment, even though leaving the staircase was still off limits if he wasn’t there with him. The grass was wild and too long, all kinds of flowers decorating the different shades of green with the most blinding colours. Steve had tried to teach him some of their names earlier. The only one he remembered however was the _Kornblume_. It was an elegant flower that reminded him a little of snowflakes in their form, but they were blue like the cloudless sky above him. He had never seen one like it. The other plants seemed like weeds next to it.  


 Of course, he also enjoyed having Steve around him again. He had vanished somewhere over the weekend – to _fight the good fight_ , Tony assumed – and not returned until yesterday evening. Today was Tuesday. He’d been bored out of his skull when his… _companion_ finally came back. Spending one’s day fiddling with and repairing a magic device and painstakingly working through the pages of _Effi Briest_ word by word weren’t the most… exiting ways to pass time.  


 He’d come pretty far with the little chariot though. All the fine wires were fused back together and four of the five parts made it look a lot more like it did than when he had gotten it back. The engravings still had to be done, but Tony found himself feeling less and less like continuing his work.  


 “I hadn’t either, before I first came here during summer. It reminds me that there are good things in this country, good people. Not only those monsters I fight.” He paused to lazily turn his head. “How far are you with your book?”  


 Tony gritted his teeth. Not far enough, considering he’d spent nearly a week on it already. “Still in the first chapter.”  


 “When you’re finished, tell me who I would be in your story. Crampas or Innstetten.”  


 Tony just hummed, not paying full attention. Steve asked weird questions sometimes. And going by the pace he was now, this year would be over before he reached the last page. _Would I mind staying here for that long?_ The thought surprised him. Maybe it wasn’t correctly phrased. _Do I want to stay here for longer than necessary?  
_

__ His gaze went over the garden, searching for something else to concentrate on. “Hey, what’s that?” He nudged Steve’s side and pointed to a little spot of oddly shaped white flowers.  


 “That’s white clover. _Weiß-Klee_.” He suddenly seemed more awake than he had for the last half hour. “It’s practically everywhere.” Getting up from the ground he strode over to the patch and picked one of them before he sat down again. “You can eat the tips of their blossoms. Like this.” He plucked one of the tiny white shafts out and carefully bit the tip off. “They’re sweet. You want to try one?”  


 Tony looked sceptically at the greenish white flower in Steve’s hand. Then he scooped up from the blanket a little to lay his head in Steve’s lap, grinning sheepishly. It couldn’t be worse than all those potato dishes Steve insisted on serving him. Steve read his actions as a yes and plucked out another shaft to dangle it in front of Tony’s mouth. Tony eyed it doubtfully for a few more seconds before he warily bit off. There wasn’t much to chew on, the tip was incredibly small, but it really was sweet. Not candy-sweet but… sweet like nature. Sweet like Steve.  He hummed appreciatively and waited for Steve to feed him another one.  


 “I wish we had red clover here, too. It has a fuller taste.”  


 “Maybe we’ll find some later.”  


 “There’s none in the backyard.”  


 “I’m sure there’s a whole city with flourishing landscape just outside the door.”  


 “Yes, but it’s not safe out there. We’ll have to stay here, Engel.”  


 “Not forever,” Tony said, focusing on Steve’s face again. Steve got the feeling they weren’t really talking about clover anymore. Tony got the feeling he had found the answer to his question.  


 ***

When Steve came home on Wednesday, he couldn’t find Tony. He wasn’t at his usual spot at the table, nor was he lying on the bed. It didn’t take long to check the whole flat and Steve felt panic rising in him.  


  _Golly, he’s from the future?  
_

_  Just because he says so doesn’t mean it has to be true.  
_

_  Come on, Subby. Stranger things have happened to us. And if Cap here says he’s alright—  
_

_  I’m afraid I don’t trust the Shield-Slinger’s judgement as much as you do.  
_

_  Sorry, Pappy, but I’m with Namor on this one.  
_

_  But, Toro! We all saw him emerge out of thin air in front of us. Why is it so hard for you to believe that he is from a different time?  
_

_  It’s not that. I’m just saying Namor is right if he says we can’t trust him.  
_

_  Cap, you haven’t said anything yet! You must have evidence this Stark is not a bad person!  
_

_  I know he didn’t betray me, lad. He learned more than he should have and there were no consequences.  
_

_  Shades of  _ _ Neptune _ _! Did he uncover your secret identity?  
_

_  Well…  
_

_  Good gravy! I can’t believe you’ve been so careless, ol’ buddy!  
_

_  It was an accident. But I trust him. He won’t bring any trouble.  
_

_  You surfacemen trust too easily. You will see your mistake when it is already too late.  
_

 Steve gritted his teeth and turned around to search the rest of the house. He wasn’t ready to admit Namor was right just yet. There had to be an explanation other than betrayal.  


  _I say we just enjoy ourselves until you can get back to your time. No strings attached.  
_

 His fist connected with the wall as he remembered his own words. No. Not like this. He wasn’t ready yet. He couldn’t go back to the trance like state he fell into when he was on his own, alone with the noise.  


 Before his mind’s eye he could see his dark haired angel. Brows furrowed in concentration as he was working on the little golden chariot. Huffing angrily when he stumbled over a word he couldn’t make sense of. Playfully wrestling with him between the sheets, laughing when he was pinned down again. The vulnerability he tried to hide and yet never fully succeeded. Writhing underneath him, looking like he lost his connection to the world before he gazed into Steve’s eyes like they were his only anchor. The brush of his thin moustache against Steve’s skin when they kissed.   


 He hadn’t even had a chance to say goodbye.  


 “Hey. You’re home early.”  


 He swirled around to find his Engel standing in the open door, a look of pleasant surprise on his face, a towel around his shoulder and a fine sheen of sweat on his forehead. He didn’t have the time to come up with an easy response and a casual demeanour. The next thing he knew, he already was hugging Tony, kissing his cheek sloppily and closing his eyes.  


 “Are you alright? Did something happen?” The worry in Tony’s voice was too much.  


 “No. Everything is just as it should be.” When he looked down at his hands he realized they were shaking.  
  


 ***

< Sir, wait!>  


 Steve turned around at the excited voice yelling after him. He smiled as he recognized the bakery’s young apprentice. <Tim. I told you to call me by my name.>  


 Tim skittered to a halt before him, handing him a heavy box. <If you used your real name, I’d use it. I won’t call you ‘Steffen’ though.>  


 Taking the box, Steve frowned. Tim was in many ways… different. It wasn’t very unusual to meet a girl dressed up as a boy in these times, but Tim also had a slight accent to her otherwise fluent German. It was too faint to catch its origin. The bakery was right next to the hairdresser’s shop he was working in and she often came over to chat him up, sitting on one of the unoccupied hairdresser chairs with the air of a gossipy old woman.  


 Steve couldn’t honestly claim he was angry when the other costumers left, annoyed with her endless stream of words. Jim didn’t seem to mind either.  


 It was a mystery to him how the young woman knew about his mission, but she also knew about the rest of the Invaders and no harm had come to them because of it. <What is it?>  


 <It’s wine, sir. Good, German wine. My master gave it to me as a farewell gift and I don’t drink alcohol.> A few of the long brown strands of hair had fallen out from under the hat. She didn’t seem to mind.  


 <There are four bottles in here-->  


 <I know. But you’ve got a guest and I’m sure he’ll appreciate it.> Steve was about to ask her how she knew about Tony when she spoke up again, grinning wildly and shaking her head. <You have to accept it. I’m leaving today and I won’t see you again. Please?>  


 Maybe Torch had told her about it. His friend got rather talkative when the only people he could otherwise talk to were a snobby prince, two boys and a sleep deprived soldier. Who could blame the man?  


 <Where are you going from here?>  


 A shrug of the shoulders. <I don’t know yet. I’ll see where I am when I’m there. Have fun with the wine and give my love to the others!> She hadn’t even completely finished her sentence when she started dashing down the road  


 Steve stared after her until she vanished around the corner. A weird prickling in his stomach as he fought the urge to go after her and see if she was still running down the road or had indeed vanished into thin air. Slowly shaking his head, he smiled to himself. There were other things to worry about.  


 When he came home, Tim’s prediction proved to be right. Tony eyed the wine bottles appreciatively, muttering something about an excellent year before handing the bottle he’d been holding back to Steve.   


 Steve felt his eyebrows arch. “Don’t you want to open it?”  


 “I don’t like to drink this early. It’s barely afternoon.”  


 “Use your imagination, Engel. It’s already night in  New York ,” Steve grinned, expertly popping the bottle’s cork with a corkscrew. Alcohol didn’t affect him, but he could still enjoy the taste.  


 As Steve handed him one of the scarlet coffee mugs with white hearts all over them, filled with the exquisite wine, he made an effort to look deep in thought. “I’ll remember that one.”  


 Later that night, Steve would learn that Tony was a very entertaining drunk. He went from sluggish over sheepish to incredibly confident before he finally transformed to a tightrope walker balancing on a rope between truth and absurdity. It was hard to tell which statement leaned to which side of the rope.  


 “I miss flying,” Tony murmured into his ear, eyes half closed and diluted. He was all but purring in Steve’s lap.  


 “We already have airplanes. I could look if maybe—“  


 A dismissive snort. “Not in those wretched tubes. By myself,” he said, chuckling to himself as his free hand was moving through the air. “Going wherever I want, so no one knows who I am, where no one can…” A yawn.  


 Steve waited for him to finish the sentence only to realise he was fast asleep, his mouth hanging slightly open, looking ridiculously childish. He smiled.  


 ***

 It was only a couple of hours till dawn and they were still awake, Tony lying draped over Steve, his head resting on his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. He’d started sleeping like this the first night they had spent together, a little over three weeks ago. Steve suspected that this habit had something to do with his angel’s chest plate. He hadn’t been able to hear Tony’s heartbeat once; maybe he couldn’t either and missed the sound.  


 It must be rather sad, not to be able to hear your own heartbeat.  


 “Did I tell you I saw something made by your company the other day?” Running his hand through the soft black waves on Tony’s head, he felt the shake rather than saw it. “We were having a tactical meeting when Colonel Farrow showed us some of the new weapons. You never told me you’re an arms manufacturer.”  


 Tony’s whole body instantly went rigid on top of him. “I’m not.”  


 “But—”  


 “I’m not!” His voice grew smaller, cracked slightly. “Anymore.”  


  _He’d made it worse_. “I’m sorry. You’re not even born yet; of course you have nothing do with the weapons.”  


 Tony inhaled deeply, his eyes closed shut _. Sudden screams all around him, heat coming from everywhere, pain, pain in his chest_ —  


 “Stark Industries started out as an armory. It’s not anymore, but I… started out as an arms dealer. My work brought death to thousands of people.” Steve cringed at the dark chuckle in his lover’s voice and carefully untangled his hand.  


 “It’s not the same. You just supplied them with something they would have gotten from someone else otherwise.”  


  _Guns don’t kill people – Stark does!  
_

 “But _I_ did. I knew there would be deaths on my conscience when I designed my first landmine. I thought it would help our troops against the aggressive forces. I should have known what they would do to innocent people as well.”  


 “Tony.” Not ‘Engel’. His name. Something _real_. Something to hold on to. “There are times when there is no other way.”  


 “Says the man who’s never slayed a single soul,” said Tony, his voice cold.  


 Silence fell, but it wasn’t the silence of an untimely-ended discussion. It was the pondering silence before the relevant argument. “That’s not true. You can’t fight in a war and get out of battle without blood on your hands. Sometimes, I’m not sure what’s worse: that I have to end lives to make way for a better future, or that a boy has to do it for me when onlookers are there, to give people hope. To make them think Captain  America is pure, the very spirit of the American Dream.” His hands clenched into fists. “What kind of dream is based on a boy with a machine gun?”  


 Tony didn’t answer at first. After all, what could he have said? He hadn’t known. His father had started to tell him stories about Captain  America at his cradle, hadn’t stopped until his death and he hadn’t known. He remembered the awe in the fulminating voice, the respect it held.  


  _And you know what’s the best part, son? He’s never killed in his entire life. The man was perfect. The perfect American.  
_

 Briefly he found himself wondering how he could have ever believed that. How anyone could have ever believed that. Steve was right. You couldn’t go to war and come back without spilling blood. It didn’t work that way.  


 “Then why are you doing it?”  


 To his surprise, Steve’s hardened features softened the tiniest bit. “Because there’s nothing worse than life without hope.”  


 ***

 It was finished. Tony leaned back in his chair to stare at the time travelling device in front of him. He had stalled so long, had worked on every little detail with far more precision than was reasonably necessary and still, after three and a half weeks, he was finished. _Damn_.  


 It was all Bucky’s fault, anyway. The boy had started to come over more and more often, to talk to Steve. Tony didn’t dislike him, he was nice enough and made Tony laugh time and again when he spoke. The funny thing was when Steve started talking exactly the same when he was around his younger partner. Their sentences basically all started with “Golly!, “Gosh!”, “Yahoo!”, “Hot Dog!” or some new ridiculous form of each other’s names. It was hilarious to just listen to them. He was glad the two of them seemed to enjoy making him laugh rather than be offended.  


 Still, he couldn’t participate in most of their conversations due to the secret information. Neither of them ever said anything, but when he’d caught Bucky looking at him like he was afraid he might explode at any second for the third time, he’d left the room voluntarily and had done so ever since.  


 “How’s the repair going, moustache man?”  


 Couldn’t _anyone_ call him by his name? “I’m pretty much done, Bucky.”  


 “Hot Dog! So you can finally go back home again, eh?” He sat down on the bed beside Tony, looking curiously down at the golden chariot. “And this is really a time machine? That’s so neat!” Steve also entered the room, leaning casually against the door frame, his expression closed. “How does it work?”  


 “Well, there’s this tool, a mains tester.” He held it up to Bucky’s enquiring eyes. “Last time I placed it between the niche between the floor and the front and _bang_ – here I was.” Bucky grinned and turned around to look at Steve before jumping energetically off the bed.  


 “I’d love to shoot the breeze a little more, but I’ve gotta go,” he exclaimed satisfied, clasping Steve on the shoulder on his way out.  


 Steve waited until the door slammed shut, then his intent gaze met Tony’s. “So you’re done. Ready to go home.”  


 Was that relief in his voice? “I guess,” Tony managed to say. His voice didn’t waver.  


 “You must be glad. Finally back to the future, away from all this.” Strained relief. Was there such a thing?  


 “I,” he broke off, not sure what he wanted to say. Well, actually, he knew what he _wanted_ to say. He just didn’t know what he _should_ say. “I’m not… sure.”  


 Steve spoke over Tony. “I mean, you go on and on about how you’re a futurist and it isn’t much of a challenge to see what’s going to happen when you’re in the past. Or how unimportant this war is to you—”  


“I never said that!”  


 “—since you already know who’s going to win. Though you won’t tell me, because of some weird bug thing—”  


 “It’s Butterfly Effect—“  


 “—and now you can finally get back to your modern world. Must be such a relief.”  


 Tony just stared at him. His thoughts were racing, coming up with one possible explanation after the other, all true, all so cruel. Then he looked into Steve’s eyes. Deep blue and pleading. _Please don’t make this any harder on me then it has to be_.  


 In his life, Tony had learned that saying the truth was seldom good advice. It got you into trouble, made you vulnerable, gave others the opportunity to hurt you. He took his chances.  


 “I don’t want to leave,” he said, his voice trembling. Ashamed, he looked down.  


 “Why?” It was faint and he nearly didn’t catch it, but it was there, his chance. Maybe his downfall. He closed his eyes against the tempting wish to run.  


 “Because I want to stay with you.”  


 A sharp intake of breath came from the other side of the room. “Engel, you know that this can’t work—”  


 Falling. Falling from so high, the impact would shatter him.  


 “—but if you really want to stay here, with me… I mean, you said yourself you won’t be able to interact with many people and can’t build stuff because that would alter the time line. And I won’t be able to stay here forever; I’ll have to get back into the fight and…” He broke off, gathering himself. “I’m so glad you still want to try this.”  


 Caught. Safe. Happy. _So happy_.  


 Tony flung himself at Steve, unable to say anything because he didn’t trust his voice.  


 Steve kissed the top of his head, a wry smile on his face. “This will end in disaster.”  


 “I don’t care,” came the strangely muffled reply.  


 ***

 “Engel – I really have to get to work…”  


 Tony sighed in annoyance at being yet again interrupted from nibbling his way down Steve’s body. “You work as a hair dresser. I think the Bielefelder can live without a new hair cut for another half an hour.”  


 Steve was inclined to agree, especially so since all he ever seemed to do was wash people’s hair. The only one allowed to cut and dress someone’s hair was Jim. Which wasn’t fair, now that he thought about it.  


  “I’m not going there today. I told you, today we raid the arsenal. There are thousands of foreign forced laborers and we finally have enough information to simultaneously free them and destroy the factory.”  


 Tony gave him the most convincingly menacingly look he could muster and rolled off him. “Fine then. Just leave me here. It’s not like I have nothing to do or am bored without you. There’s always _Effi Briest_.”  


 Laughing, Steve kissed him on the nose, his ear, his jawline and eventually properly on the mouth. Mischief was gleaming in the cobalt eyes. “A lot of lives are on the line today.”  


 “Then I better keep my fingers crossed so everything works out.”  


 Steve got out of the bed, deliberately slowly walking over to the closet, giving Tony something to look at. “That will hardly be necessary. We’ve got every detail, every possibility planned out. The only way we could fail was if one of us wasn’t concentrating.”  


 “So concentrate then, oh greatest strategist in the whole of  Bielefeld ,” Tony shouted after him as he closed the bathroom door behind him.  


 ***

 Later that day, Tony was doing the dishes in the kitchen sink when he heard the quiet jingle of keys, the telltale sign of Steve returning home. A grin crept over his face. He felt like the good little housewife waiting for her dashing husband to come home and swipe her off her feet. Just about a month ago he wouldn’t have thought this possible. A relationship like this, trusting someone like this…  


 Despite the fact that he knew it could only be Steve, he still jerked when arms came around his waist from behind. Before he could so much as turn around, a hand was already wandering under the waistband of his trousers, firmly cupping his cock. The cupping fluently became a light stroking.  


 “Give a man a warning, will you?“ Tony gasped, feeling a little overwhelmed at Steve’s eagerness and bracing himself against the sink. They didn’t usually go _this_ fast.  


 “I can’t warn you,” Steve muttered against the base of his neck, something indefinable underlying his tone.  


 Tony was about to ask why he sounded so serious when the hand on his cock squeezed him softly inside his briefs. For a second, all rational thought fled his mind. Seemingly at the same time his blood flowed elsewhere. He could feel every breath Steve took against his neck, each of them making the little hairs there stand on end. He wanted to ask Steve what was going on, but really… He could just as well ask him afterwards.  


 Slowly and without freeing his left hand, Steve opened the fly of Tony’s trousers and pulled them down, together with his briefs. He could feel them glide over the sharp hip bones until they just slid down on their own. His left hand was still stroking Tony to full hardness, the touch feeling more and more like pleasant grinding.  A pant broke the busy silence as he let his other hand wander to Tony’s balls, brushing them with his fingertips. Tony could feel the satisfied grin against his throat. He couldn’t hide from Steve how much he enjoyed this. How much he enjoyed _them_ , no matter how impossible this should be.  


 One of the hands retreated to Steve’s own trousers, zipping down his fly like he did this everyday.  Well, he had, at least for the last two weeks, Tony thought smugly. Heartbeats later the unwanted garment joined Tony’s on the ground and he could feel his lover’s erection pressed against him. His fingers were still slippery from the dishwater and he had trouble to hold onto the edges of the sink. Steve’s cock was slapping lightly against his cheeks, parting them with one hand as if it was an afterthought, while his other hand was drawing lazy circles on his inner thigh.   


Finally, Tony was turned around. He knew he was flushed and probably looked like the very definition of the word debauched, but he wasn’t the only one who was breathing heavily. Steve could see the desire in those dark eyes, the desire for more. A predatory grin deformed his handsome features as he went down on his knees, watching Tony’s erection for a few seconds before he bend forward to press a kiss on its wet tip.  


 Tony closed his eyes against the picture before him. _Too fast. Too intense.  
_

 He could hear when Steve licked his lips before he was engulfed in wet heat. He threw his head back and hit the wall, but the pain barely registered in his clouded brain. His whole body was trembling and twitching, filled with excitement.  


__ Still, something in his mind was itching to get his attention, trying to make him aware of something. Something was wrong. He had to ask Steve, he had to make sure he was okay, that nothing had happened to him… He tried to take the control of this situation, at least _this_ situation, but he couldn’t. Steve was too insistent, driving him mad with stimulation. He needed control. He couldn’t let this go so far out of control, he couldn’t.  


 But suddenly Steve was hollowing his cheeks around him and sucking and it became unmistakably clear to him who was in control of this situation. He felt a jolt go through his body, and his hands were gliding through thick blond hair, down his neck and then they were digging into the deep green shirt and scratching the skin beneath. It felt like he was ripped out of his body for just the shortest of moments before he was roughly shoved back in.  


 Steve didn’t waste a second. He grabbed his angel’s lifeless form and heaved him onto the table behind them. _Effi Briest_ fluttered to the ground. They weren’t finished yet. Seemingly out of nowhere he held the little bottle of massage oil in his hand, he popped it open with his thumb and let the cool liquid flow onto his other hand. Throwing the bottle carelessly over his shoulder, he rubbed the liquid onto himself, unable to stop looking at Tony who was watching him through half lidded eyes in return.  


 Steve felt a stab of guilt as he met those eyes. Completely open. Trusting. _Loving_. He shuddered and reached out to pull Tony back on his feet, only to turn him around again, making sure he was braced against the table before he let go of his waist and parted his cheeks once more with his thumbs. He steadied himself against the ring of muscles, reaching around with his other hand to caress Tony’s limp cock. He could feel how Tony stirred back to life, slowly, defying the rules of anatomy with his seemingly endless passion.  
Another luxurious tremble went through Tony’s body as Steve went about to stroke him again. It took him a moment to realize Steve’s cock was already nudging his entrance in his haze. He heard a deep intake of breath and suddenly there was pain, and it hurt and _dammit what was going on with Steve_?  


 His fingernails were leaving marks in the dark wood under him and he heard himself gasping harshly. Steve was being careful, contradicting his reckless penetration. He was inching into him slowly, millimeter for millimeter, hinting butterfly kisses on every patch of skin he could reach. The meek kisses unhastily changing to nips.  


 Finally, Tony could feel Steve’s pelvis against him. He was buried in him to the hilt, resting his forehead between Tony’s shoulder blades and exhaling slowly. When he spoke, his voice was strained.  


 “Is this okay?”  


 A chuckle forced its way out of Tony. “You’re asking now?” His voice was hoarse.  


 ”I’m sorry.” He sounded sincere. “I couldn’t stop myself… I wanted to feel more of you… so badly…” A pause. “Are you mad at me?”  


 Tony turned his head and looked at him with nearly black eyes. He could see Steve’s chest heave in arousal as he looked at him. “I’m going to be mad at you if you don’t finish what you started.”  


 The smile on Steve’s face was full of warmth when he ran his clean hand through jet black hair and finally cupped his cheek to bend down and kiss him with everything he had. His other hand continued rubbing Tony’s cock, still coated in massage oil.  


 Then, he pulled out of Tony carefully, just a little, and went back in. They both groaned into the kiss and broke it unwillingly to gasp for breath. He searched Tony’s eyes for permission before he repeated his action at the same agonizing pace.  


 Tony felt like he was being ripped apart at the seams and at the same time put together anew. It was painful, but he was used to worse. If every wound he received in battle could feel so bittersweet, he wouldn’t take the armor off anymore. The intensity of all this left his mouth hanging open, wanting to scream in ecstasy but unable to gather enough air to do so.  


 The hand on his hip gripped him tighter and tighter, sure to leave marks. It wouldn’t be the only marks he’d complain about afterwards. His skin was still tingling on all the spots on his neck and back where Steve had bitten him lightly before sucking the heated flesh into his mouth. It was unusual for him to be this aggressive.  


 Again he felt the thoughts sucked out of him as the other hand on him twisted slightly, drawing a new sound from the back of his throat. The mixture of pain and pleasure was slowly driving him insane, rocketing between two heights. Steve’s thrusts became less careful and more erratic, driving into him and out again between heartbeats. The extremes became too much, devouring him completely, leaving him to a hot white light before his eyes as he climaxed. Steve thrust into him once more before he followed, spilling heat inside of him.  


 They both collapsed onto the table, unable to stand anymore. Some part of the chest plate was boring into his flesh. He welcomed the pain. Minutes passed before Steve carefully slipped out of his lover and kissed the top of his head. Tony heard how he walked away and entered the bathroom, heard the water run and then Steve was back, turning him around and kissing him again, letting his hands wander over his body with a wet washcloth, cleaning up the mess they had made.  


 Tony grinned up at him, feeling completely worn out. The marks would probably be visible for another _week_. It’d be interesting to see how Steve would treat them the next time he saw them. “You have been holding out on me,” he observed, his voice rough.  


 A tender smile was the only answer he got. Steve turned to gather their clothes, pulling on his trousers before he handed the other pair to Tony.  


 “Get dressed; I need to show you something in the garden.” At that, Tony felt a little livelier again.  


 “I’m allowed to leave the house? I must have been really good.”  


 Again, there was no answer. Steve vanished into their bedroom and got back with a dark leather jacket in his hands. He motioned for Tony to go first and followed closely behind, not bothering to close the door behind them.  


 Walking wasn’t much of a problem, but as Tony took the first step, he winced at the sharp pain. He hoped against all reason that Steve hadn’t noticed and stole a glance behind him. He jumped a little as he realized Steve was only inches behind him, his eyes set in a stern glare. Before he could say anything, he felt himself being lifted into the air and pressed against Steve’s chest. Steve was carrying him in his arms.  


 “Steve, put me down. I can walk. Steve!” He felt his stomach leaping at the unusual way he was being held. He also felt the warmth radiating off his lover.  


 “Shhhh. Don’t talk, Engel.” Tony fell silent at the same time he stopped struggling, eyeing Steve suspiciously. As they arrived in the garden, he was carefully set down. He immediately crossed his arms, only to have his hands being caught in Steve’s bigger one and gently pulled down.  


 “Everything went wrong. It wasn’t… _I_ wasn’t…” He took a deep, shuddering breath. Something was shining in his eyes. “People died today, because I wasn’t focused. It was my fault. I forgot about my mission.”  


 “You didn’t—”  


 The hug was bone crashing and Tony only had a second to think about what Steve just told him and what they had done before. It didn’t add up. Then Steve’s lips were on his, hot and demanding, his tongue delving into his mouth with finality. And briefly he wondered how anyone could speak of “giving a kiss” when all Steve did right now was taking. When Steve pushed him away to look in his eyes, he saw it again. The unwavering resolve and something else shining through it. Regret?  


 “I’m sorry, Engel,” Steve said. Suddenly there was something in his hands and it clicked in Tony’s head. He looked down to find the chariot pressed into his own hands and the little mains tester in Steve’s, still half hidden by his jacket, touching the niche between its floor and front.  


 “People can’t die just because I’m happy.”  


 “Bastard.” There was so much more he needed to say, things infinitely more important, but a blue spark fizzled up in front of him and after a heartbeat everything was lost to fluorescing white.  


 ***

 “No! No! You had no right!” The chair crashed against the wall, splintering to pieces. “It’s not fair!” The lamp on his desk was next. He felt one of the glass shards driving into his hand but he didn’t care, the pain didn’t even register. Everything else was hurting too badly. Distantly he was aware of the banging on the door and Pepper’s worried voice on the other side but they quickly went under in the noise of more furniture being destroyed.  


 He looked around. There had to be more here. He couldn’t stop yet. If he stopped now… He found himself on his knees, unable to stand any longer. There was blood oozing from his hand, the glass wasn’t there any more, holding nothing back. And something yielded inside him, giving way to a stream of tears, flowing freely down his cheeks. The door broke down behind him and a security agent stumbled in, followed shortly by Pepper. But he didn’t care. It hurt too much.  


 “It’s not fair.” His voice broke as the radio presenter in the background cheerily announced the end of their Second World War documentary.  


 ***

_ Several months later…  
_

 The Avengers were on their way home. Iron Man was sitting behind the steering wheel of the submarine boat, his mind still on their fight with Namor.  


 The same. He’d looked exactly the same. Not a day older than when they met briefly for the first time, in the middle of a battle field. _Big cobalt blue eyes underneath him.  
_

 He shook his head vehemently. No. That was over. He had looked for Steve Rogers, but while Captain  America had lived on for some time, the clumsy Private was on the list of people who never came back home. And what would he have done if Steve had still been alive? If he could have seen him again? Steve had betrayed him. He’d chosen his mission over him, had not even valued him enough to talk to him. It had all been in his head. Steve had never loved him.  


 A cynical smile crossed his lips, invisible to his fellow Avengers behind the golden mask. In a way, he was glad he’d never have to see Steve again. He wasn’t sure he could take it. No, it was better this way. It was better to forget the short time when he had deluded himself into believing someone would love him that unconditionally. It was better he forgot. There was nothing to remind him of it, anyway.  


 Thor’s thunderous voice broke through his dark musings. “Stop the engines, Iron Man! There is someone _out_ there!”

**Author's Note:**

> (Originally posted at http://ailette.livejournal.com/18733.html)  
> Beta: freakydarling
> 
> Translations:  
> Sie sind mir aufgefallen. Kann ich sie auf einen Drink einladen? Oder vielleicht… auf etwas mehr? – I noticed you. May I invite you for a drink? Or maybe… something more?  
> Dort sitzt ein Eichhörnchen im Baum. – There’s a squirrel sitting in the tree.  
> Turm – Tower  
> Bis später, Schatz! – See you later, darling!  
> Kornblume - Cornflower


End file.
